


The Sound of His Voice

by butterflyslinky, Worldsmixer



Series: When the World Comes Crashing Down [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worldsmixer/pseuds/Worldsmixer
Summary: Sam Wilson is an aspiring musician stuck washing dishes to make ends meet. But a chance encounter with DJ Maria Hill and record executive Nick Fury is about to turn his life around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang, and posted at the last minute. This is the first part of what will hopefully be a longer series, but no guarantee of when the next part will come up. Many, many thanks to the lovely Worldsmixer for her art!

The Sound of His Voice

_Oh what a night._

_Why’d it take so long to see the light?_

_Seemed so wrong but now it seems so right.  
What a lady, what a night._

_And I felt a rush like a rolling bolt of thunder,_  
Spinning my head around and taking my body under.  
Oh what a night…

“That was December 1963 by the Four Seasons. And any of you idiots who call it ‘What a Lady, What a Night’ will feel my wrath.”

Sam chuckled as he rinsed the next plate. _Over the Hill_ was his favorite radio show, not just because it played music he liked, but because the DJ was always so much fun.

“I’ll level with you,” the voice from the radio continued. “Picking songs for this hour was pretty hard. I mean, who even listens to the radio at 10 PM?” There was a laugh. “Suppose that’s why I’ve got this slot, right? Anyway, here’s some ABBA while I find more coffee.”

Sam hummed along with the next song. The dishwasher rack was full so he moved it into the machine and got it started.

It wasn’t a bad job, really, washing dishes at Canino’s, but it was very dull. The only things that kept Sam sane were his music and his radio, especially between 8 and midnight, when _Over the Hill_ came on. It had all the oldies, plus a DJ with a beautiful voice and a wicked sense of humor. Sam loved it and listened avidly whenever it was on.

He loved the selections, old hits with the occasional obscure piece thrown in. It was mostly happy and stupid music, the type of thing he could sing loudly with and maybe dance to. And it was all perfectly offset by the DJ.

Sam didn’t know her name; she made a point of never saying it on air, but her voice was beautiful. She was snarky and cynical, sounding like she didn’t care in the least if anyone else liked her, but there was a lightness about the way she spoke that made Sam think that she wasn’t really as pessimistic as she sounded. At any rate, the music she chose made her seem happier.

Or maybe Sam was projecting.

He had just finished the last of the dishes when the door opened and his roommate Steve poked his head into the kitchen. “Finished?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Sam said. He picked up a stack of plates and passed them to Steve. “Put those away and we can leave.”

“You got it,” Steve said, carrying the plates back to their shelves as Sam carried a tray of glasses over. “So…open mic night at The Eyrie tonight,” Steve said.

“Yeah?” Sam said, as if he didn’t know.

“Got your guitar with you?” Steve asked.

“Always do,” Sam said. “You never know, right?”

“Right,” Steve said. “It’s why I carry my pencils with me.”

Sam laughed as they went to clock out. Steve had been his best friend since they had met at the VA office a few years before, both fresh out of the service, Steve from the Army and Sam from the Air Force. Steve had taken up art after leaving military life and worked as a waiter to support the hobby, just as Sam worked as a dishwasher to support his songwriting. It was a good arrangement—they brought in enough income to afford their shitty apartment, and could cheer each other on in their artistic pursuits.

“You should play that song you were writing yesterday,” Steve said.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, man…it’s still really rough. And people prefer covers they can sing along to.”

“At this hour?” Steve asked as they walked to the car. “Come on, man. If you never share it with anyone but me, how will anyone know how amazing you are?”

Sam laughed. “All right,” he said. “But only if you send your portfolio to Stark Industries tomorrow.”

Steve grinned. “You’re on,” he said.

*

“And that’s the end of our show,” Maria said into the microphone. “Good night to the six people who are still awake, and here’s Madonna to play us out.” She put on _Like a Prayer_ and set the computer to keep playing music throughout the night.

She picked up her purse and trudged downstairs, hoping she could find a cab at this hour. Being the late night oldies DJ was a decent job, but it did have her going home after midnight, which was never safe.

To her surprise and gratification, however, when she got to the lobby Nick Fury was waiting for her. “Evening, Hill,” he said.

“Fury,” she answered. “Are you taking me home?”

“After we go out,” Fury said. “Open mic night at The Eyrie. Good time to scout for talent.”

Maria raised her eyebrows. “And why do you need me for that?” she asked as they walked outside.

“Because I hate going in there by myself,” Fury said. “And you have a good ear for talent. A _very_ good ear.”

“I’m not coming back to Shield,” she said. “No matter how hard you beg.”

“I’m not begging you for anything,” Fury said. “But you’re still the best producer I ever had. I still don’t understand why you gave it up for a third-shift radio show.”

Maria sighed. “Producing wasn’t what I wanted, Nick,” she said. “And if I didn’t get out when I did, I never would.”

“It would have paid for your culinary classes,” Fury pointed out.

“At what cost?” Maria asked. “Listening to every Mumford and Sons wannabe crank out pseudo-philosophical drivel while I tried to make them sound talented? No thanks.”

“You were successful,” Fury said. “Tell you what—you come with me tonight, I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow at that Italian place you like. The really expensive one.”

Maria smiled. “Okay,” she said. “And if I hear someone good?”

“I’ll throw in dessert.”

*

The Eyrie was a small but popular hipster bar. Sam loved going there, especially for open mic night. He loved playing his guitar and singing his favorite songs for other people. He was relatively well-known and the patrons generally liked him.

Clint, the bartender, nodded as Sam and Steve walked in. “Hey, Sam, Steve,” he said. “Here to sing?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Got a slot open?” He resisted wincing as the person on stage did a very bad standup routine.

“For you? Always.” Clint pulled out the signup sheet. “In fact, I can slip you in next if you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Sam said.

“Meanwhile, I’m thirsty,” Steve said. “What’ve you got on tap tonight?”

“Lots of new stuff,” Clint said. “Any preferences?”

“Surprise me,” Steve said. “I’m going to get a table.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder and made his way across the bar.

Sam leaned on the bar, listening to the standup dying on stage. “Christ, Clint, should I rescue this guy?” he muttered.

“He signed up for twenty minutes, he gets twenty minutes,” Clint said. “He’s only halfway done…though yeah, it might be kinder for you to start singing over him.”

“If only,” Sam said. “Give me whatever you’re giving Steve.” He handed Clint his card and carried the glasses across the room, sliding one over to Steve. “Here…you’ll probably need six of these before this guy’s done.”

Steve chuckled. “But I want to be sober when you sing,” he said.

“You hear me sing whenever we aren’t working,” Sam pointed out.

“And sometimes when we are working,” Steve said. “You do tend to sing loudly when Over the Hill’s on.”

Sam shrugged. “Not like they can hear it outside the kitchen.”

“True,” Steve said. “So you get twenty minutes…got a set list?”

“I’ll do a couple of the oldies,” Sam said. “And that original towards the end.”

“Good plan,” Steve said. He sipped at his beer and glanced at the stage. “He could be good…if he had a better writer.”

Sam snorted.

*

Maria followed Fury into the bar just as the acts were changing over. She found a table near the front while Fury went to order drinks. He returned with two whiskeys just as the musician got up onstage.

Maria glanced at the man onstage. He was young, dark-skinned with lovely brown eyes. She sipped at her whiskey. “At least we’d have eye candy,” she murmured to Fury.

Fury frowned at her. “I don’t pick people up because you think they’re cute,” he said.

Maria giggled. “I’m teasing,” she said. “You hear this one before?”

“No,” Fury said. “I’m normally not here this late.” They quieted as the bartended stepped up.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the bartender said. “Wait, I forgot, that’s none of you…hey, people.”

There was a bit of laughter.

“This is Sam,” the bartender continued. “Some of you know him, and the rest of you will love him in a second.” He walked off as the musician shook his head, grinning.

“Hey, folks,” Sam said. “As Clint was so kind to say, I’m Sam, and this is _On and On_ ” He started playing his guitar, humming a soft intro before he started to sing.

 _Down in Jamaica, they got_  
Lots of pretty women,  
Steal your money, then they  
Break your heart.  
Laws and sushis,  
And love with Old Sam,  
Takes him from the fire  
Into the frying pan.

Maria raised her eyebrows. It was an old song, one that she didn’t hear often, though she played it on her show now and then. She liked it well enough, but this was new. Sam had a good voice, low and light, his guitar playing was skillful, even if not very technical.

 _On and on,_  
She just keeps on trying,  
And she smiles when she feels like crying,  
On and on,  
On and on,  
On and on.

“He’s good,” she said to Fury.

Fury hummed. “Good enough to sign?”

Maria shrugged. “Good enough to keep listening, anyway.”

They listened as Sam played through several songs to great applause after each. All of them were good, and all were covers of songs Maria knew well from her show.

At the end, Sam cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “My buddy Steve over there put in a special request for tonight.” He nodded to a table at the front, where a large blond man grinned and raised his glass. “So I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’m gonna play an original tonight. If you don’t like it, please don’t throw the glasses—Clint doesn’t have the money to replace them all.”

There was a smattering of laughter. Maria leaned forward. If he could write as well as he could sing, they might have a winner.

Sam started to play several fast, melancholic chords. He kept his eyes closed and head down for a few bars before he looked up and began to sing.

 _We’re a hopeless generation,_  
But we fight for what remains.  
We keep having conversations,  
But we never see the change.

 _But if we make a better world,_  
Will you still be my girl?  
And if the world is at an end,  
Will you always be my friend?

 _When the world comes crashing down,_  
Will you see how much I tried?  
When the world comes crashing down,  
Will you still be by my side,  
My blushing bride?

Maria raised her eyebrows. It was the sort of music she played, but more desperate, more pained coming from him. She could imagine playing this on her show, even though it was completely new. She glanced across at Fury and nodded.

Fury nodded back. “See if we can catch him after this,” he muttered.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. Sam finished his song to raucous applause. He grinned and bowed and Maria couldn’t help but smile up at him. She stood up as he got off the stage—but so did every other woman and several men in the place. It seemed that all of them were eager to buy Sam a drink, and even as Maria and Fury struggled to get through, they couldn’t quite manage.

“No use,” Fury muttered as they spotted the large blond get up and start dispersing the crowd so he and Sam could leave. “We’ll have to contact him later.”

Maria nodded and headed for the bar. “Excuse me,” she asked the bartender.

“Hold on,” he said. “Last call, everyone!” he shouted over her. “Yeah?” he asked.

“That man who was playing…Sam…do you know how to contact him?”

The bartender shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “But he’s in here every open mic night if you wanna come back.”

“Thank you,” Maria said.

“Next time you see him, give him this,” Fury said, handing over his business card.

The bartender glanced at it and his eyes widened. “Oh…oh, yeah, for sure!” He grinned. “Sam’s a good guy. He deserves it.”

*

Sam sighed and rinsed the next stack of plates. The usual evening dishwasher had called out sick, so he was stuck at work a full four hours early, right in the middle of the dinner rush.

Luckily Steve was there with him, which almost made up for the fact that the radio was playing modern pop music. Sam didn’t have anything against it, but he didn’t particularly care for it and the restaurant kitchen was insulated enough that the radio couldn’t pick up another station.

Just as Sam was cursing Megan Trainor for the twelfth time, Steve came dashing into the kitchen. “Sam!” he hissed.

“What?” Sam snapped, a bit grumpy that the name of Marvin Gaye was being besmirched.

“She’s here!” Steve said.

“Who?”

“The host! From _Over the Hill_!”

Sam just about dropped a plate. “How do you know it’s her?” he asked.

“I’m waiting on her! She’s here with some really scary guy with an eyepatch and it’s her voice, I know it!” Steve grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him over to the kitchen door. He gestured through the little window at the top. “Over there, at table six.”

Sam craned his neck. The woman Steve was indicating was quite pretty, with dark-hair and a pale-face. She was leaning back and sipping wine as though she owned the place, listening to the man across from her talk.

“Wow,” Sam muttered.

“I know, right?” Steve said. “You should go talk to her.”

“I’m working,” Sam said. “And what reason could I have to talk to her, anyway? I’m a dishwasher!”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “How mad are we at the cooks right now?” he asked.

Sam glanced to the other side of the kitchen, where the chefs were all shouting at each other and getting quite a lot of grease everywhere. “Pretty mad,” Sam admitted.

“Good,” Steve said, “’cause I’m going to piss them off.”

Sam rolled his eyes and returned to his station. “Don’t get into another fight, Rogers,” he said. “Bucky wouldn’t like it if I called him from the emergency room for the fifth time this week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “I’d better get back out there. Be ready in about twenty minutes… you know, put on a clean coat, make yourself pretty.”

Steve darted back out the door. Sam sighed, wondering what Steve was planning and knowing it couldn’t be anything good.

Sam didn’t hear anything else about it until half an hour later, when Steve carried the tray out to the table. There was a moment of peace before there was a very loud crash. Sam closed his eyes for a moment before he grabbed the broom and headed out to see exactly what had happened.

Steve was standing there, red-faced and apologizing to the Hill woman, a tray of broken glass and food at his feet. Sam resisted rolling his eyes and went over to clean up. He would save the death glare for when they weren’t being stared at.

“Again, I am so sorry,” Steve was saying. “I’ll have them remake everything.” He glanced over at Sam. “Thanks, Sam…I tripped.”

The woman was staring at him. Sam looked down, wanting to die. The woman who made this job tolerable, and she was meeting Sam for what he was, just a grunt worker there to clean up other people’s messes.

Steve apologized again and headed back toward the kitchen. Sam started sweeping up, keeping his head down and wondering if it was worth getting his ass kicked later to murder Steve now.

The man sitting at the table was also staring. Sam could feel his eye on his back as he cleaned up.

“Excuse me,” the man said. “But didn’t you sing at The Eyrie last night?”

Sam turned slowly. “Um…yeah,” he said, feeling himself grow hot. “It’s just a hobby.”

“You were the best, by far,” the woman said. “That song you wrote? It’s one of my new favorites.” She smiled, red lipstick making Sam simultaneously terrified and kind of hot. “Maria Hill,” she said.

“Um…Sam Wilson,” Sam said, moving his broom to shake her hand. “You do that radio show, right? _Over the Hill_?”

She blinked. “Um…yeah,” she said.

He grinned at her. “I love it,” he said. “We always play it in the back.”

She looked down, blushing. “Thanks,” she said.

“Mr. Wilson, Nick Fury,” the man with Maria said. “I’m with Shield Records.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he reached over to shake Fury’s hand. “Pleasure,” he squeaked out.

Fury looked him over. “You busy tomorrow?” he asked. “I’d like you to come in for an official audition.”

“Um…yes, of course,” Sam said. “I don’t work until eight.”

“Good.” Fury pulled out a business card. “One o’clock work?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said. “Thank you…I’d, um…” He gestured at the floor.

“Of course,” Fury said. “Thank you for your hard work.” He turned back to Maria and started talking about something else and Sam understood himself dismissed. But the whole time he was sweeping up, he could feel Maria’s eyes on him.

He found that he didn’t mind.

*

“So did you get a date?” Steve asked with a grin as Sam came back into the kitchen.

“No,” Sam said. “But I have an audition at Shield tomorrow.”

Steve’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Seriously?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “The guy she’s with is some executive and they were at the Eyrie last night. Apparently they like the song.”

“This is great!” Steve crowed. “What are you gonna play for them?”

“Don’t know,” Sam said. “Most of what I have is kind of meh.”

“What you have is great,” Steve said. “Anything you play for them should get you signed.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Don’t you think my stuff is kind of juvenile?”

“When have I ever thought that?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I’m still mad at you, though.”

Steve shook his head. “Worked out, didn’t it?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Sam said. “But I’m still down six dishes and I didn’t want to get my big break while cleaning lasagna off the tile.”

*

Sam had never felt more out of place than he did in Shield Records that afternoon.

Everything was so bright and efficient, people moving purposefully about, making Sam feel lost. He wandered over to the reception desk. “Excuse me?” he said.

She glanced up. “Yes?”

“Sam Wilson, I’m supposed to meet Nick Fury at one?”

She frowned and typed in her computer. “Ah, yes…up the stairs, office 45.”

“Thanks.”

Sam went up the stairs, feeling ridiculous in a suit and tie. Why had he chosen to dress like that? Fury had already seen him in jeans and a sweatshirt at The Eyrie, and then in a dirty chef’s coat at work. It wasn’t like Sam could make a worse impression.

He wasn’t sure if that thought was encouraging or not.

Office 45 was near the stairs, thankfully. If it had been too far, Sam was certain he’d have gotten lost. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, the knuckles of his other hand tight around his guitar case.

“Enter.”

Sam opened the door and stepped in. Fury was sitting at his desk, along with another older man. “Ah, Sam,” Fury said. “This is Alexander Pierce, our contract manager. Alexander, this is Sam Wilson.”

Pierce smiled and extended his hand. “Pleasure,” Pierce said.

“Same,” Sam said, even though Pierce’s smile made his skin crawl.

“Hope you don’t mind me crashing your audition,” Pierce said. “But Nick mentioned that Hill was impressed with you, which got me interested.”

“Um…thanks,” Sam said.

Fury nodded. “Play us something,” he said. “One of your originals.”

Sam nodded and got his guitar out. He tuned it quickly and took a deep breath. “Um…this one’s old, but…I like it,” he said. He began to play, and then to sing.

 _No more running round,_  
No more skipping town,  
No more of the life I left behind.

 _No more telling lies,_  
No more fighting guys,  
No more, I’ll just keep it out of mind.

 _I’ll turn my head and start again,_  
Stop this troubled life.  
I’ll turn my head and start again,  
Stop this troubled life.

*

Sam left in a daze. After about three songs, Fury had stopped him and handed him a contract. “We want you,” he had said. “We’ll start in a month.”

Sam signed, barely looking over everything. It had happened. He had a contract, he was a real musician! Everything was falling into place.

He reached the lobby and was heading out when he heard someone call out to him. “Sam!”

He turned and saw Maria Hill hurrying towards him. “Miss Hill,” he said politely.

She smiled. “Maria,” she corrected. “How’d it go up there?”

Sam couldn’t help but grin back. “They liked it,” he said. “I have a contract.”

Her smile grew. “That’s wonderful!” she said. “Can I buy you lunch in celebration?”

“Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s not Italian.”

“I can do that,” she said.

*

Maria didn’t know why she had gone to Shield just to meet Sam. She didn’t know anything about him, really, except that he was a good musician and that he liked her show. And that he was cute. Really cute.

She guided him to an upscale but not stuffy bistro around the corner from Shield. Sam looked completely lost, which only added to the cuteness. Maria had to hide her smile. She really wanted Sam to start enjoying the perks his new life was about to give him.

Once they had settled in, a bottle of wine between them, Maria gave Sam another smile. “So,” she said. “When did you start writing music?”

Sam snorted. “When was I not writing music?” he asked. “It’s always been there. Wouldn’t have gotten through the Air Force without it.”

Maria’s mouth opened in a small O. “Air Force?” she asked.

Sam nodded. “Pararescue,” he said. “It was…difficult.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “The plan was to go to college after, but…well, I couldn’t sit in a classroom with a bunch of punk kids after that.”

Maria nodded. “Makes sense,” she said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “And…well, I survived it with Marvin Gaye and a notebook full of poetry.”

She looked down. “Sounds tough.”

“A bit.” Sam shook himself. “So how’d you start _Over the Hill_?”

“I was at Shield,” she said. “Nick and I worked together, finding new talent and all that. But…I don’t know, I just didn’t like what we were doing. The music all felt so…fake, once I knew what went on behind the scenes.” She hesitated. “And…well, I never wanted to work in the record industry anyway. So I quit and started the show to put myself through culinary school.”

Sam grinned. “So you want to be a chef?”

Maria shrugged. “It’s fast-paced, makes people happy and holds the strong possibility that I could set something on fire. What’s not to like?”

Sam laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Working in a kitchen’s kind of soured me on chefs.”

Maria laughed as well. “You gonna sour on this one?” she asked.

“Only if I have to wash your dishes,” Sam said.

“Tell you what,” Maria said. “I won’t make you wash dishes as long as you keep singing.”

“I think I can do that,” Sam said. “Does this mean I’ll get another chance to sing for you?”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “That your way of asking for a date?”

“This isn’t one?” Sam shot back, half-teasing.

“This is a ‘congrats on the contract’ lunch,” Maria said. “If you want a date…”

“Of course I want a date,” Sam said. “You’ve kept me sane for the last three years.”

A smile played around her mouth. “When and where?”

“Tomorrow?” Sam asked. “I’m off work. Seven o’clock at the Eyrie?”

“Sure,” Maria said. “Sounds great.”

*

“A contract and a date,” Steve said. “Did you find a genie? What’s wish number three gonna be?”

Sam shook his head. “I think I just got lucky,” he said. “This shirt look okay?”

“The red? It’s fine,” Steve said. “You’re not wearing jeans on a date with her, are you?”

“We’re just going to the Eyrie,” Sam said. “What am I supposed to wear? And don’t say khakis,” he added as Steve opened his mouth.

“All right, fair,” Steve said. “I still can’t believe it. Your life went from mundane to amazing in under twenty-four hours.”

“Happens that way,” Sam said. “Did you try your luck?”

“I submitted my portfolio, yes,” Steve said. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Are you unhappy?” Sam asked.

“Are you kidding?” Steve answered. “This is great!” He smiled. “You deserve it, Sam. Really.”

Sam smiled a bit. “I don’t know about deserve,” he said.

“You do,” Steve insisted. “Sam, you’re the most fantastic person I’ve ever met! Besides Peggy. And maybe Bucky.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sam said sarcastically.

“So you gonna quit Canino’s?” Steve asked. “I mean, since you’ve got a contract and everything.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll stick with it for a while,” he replied. “In case this doesn’t work out. I’m not that lucky.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “But when your first song gets on the charts, I expect you to give an epic walk-out speech.”

“You know it,” Sam said. “All right, I’m off. Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t!” Steve called as Sam left.

*

Maria looked just as wonderful as she had every other time Sam had seen her. She smiled as he approached her front door. “Hey, soldier,” she said.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Shall we?”

The bar was crowded, the drinks were cheap, and Sam had never been happier to be inside. Clint grinned and waved to him and Sam waved back as he and Maria approached the bar.

“See you found him,” Clint said to Maria. “What’ll it be?”

“Pint of lager,” Sam said and turned to Maria.

“Scotch,” she said.

“Coming up,” Clint said. He produced two glasses quickly and Sam and Maria slipped over to a table.

“You always play here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “It’s good. Lets me work on my skills in front of real people.”

“Surprised it gets quiet enough,” she said.

“Open mic night is late,” Sam said. “And there’s no dancing.” He glanced at the floor. “Would you like to?”

“Sure,” Maria said. She took another drink of Scotch and stood up. Sam caught her hand and let her pull him along to the dancefloor, where they fell into rhythm fairly quickly, keeping up easily with the beat of the house music.

She laughed as they moved and Sam couldn’t help but laugh as well. She sounded better off the radio-- more warm, more real. And she was pretty, too pretty to hide behind a microphone all the time.

The music was decent and the dancefloor was crowded and Sam had all the luck in the world. He didn’t know what could possibly make him happier right now.

“You’re a good dancer,” Maria commented.

“Thanks!” Sam said, shouting a little.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked.

Sam laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “You’ll just have to find out.”

She laughed with him, and Sam knew that it couldn’t get much better than this.

*

He walked her home that night, both of them breathless and smiling. They talked about a million things, stories from the war, stories from Shield and culinary school, but Sam honestly couldn’t remember much of it. He was too high on life and the beautiful woman beside him.

Outside her building, Maria turned to him. “I had a wonderful time,” she said.

“I’m glad,” Sam answered. “When will I see you again?”

She shrugged. “Depends on how busy your schedule gets,” she said. “Don’t think for a second that Nick won’t work you just as hard as the restaurant does.”

Sam nodded. “Can I call you?” he said.

“Sure,” Maria said. She held out her hand and Sam passed her his phone. She entered her contact and gave it back. “I look forward to it.” She stood there for another moment, fiddling with her keys, and Sam felt the urge to kiss her. He knew it was tacky on a first date, but everything was happening so fast and he was so happy he just wanted to.

“Can I?” he asked gently, stepping forward a bit.

Maria nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

Sam leaned down and kissed her gently. She kissed back, just as gently. They stayed for a moment before pulling apart. She smiled. “Good night, Sam,” she said, and turned and went inside.

Sam grinned the entire way home. This was definitely as good as life got.


	2. Bonus Art!

Drawn by Worldsmixer, and the cutest thing I've ever gotten to see!


End file.
